


first aid

by sinead



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinead/pseuds/sinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JC takes care of Joey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	first aid

**Author's Note:**

> (Made up. Not true. Chimerical. Fanciful. Imaginary. Suppositious. Fiction.)

After what felt like a million squats and lunges, Wade's assistant Ricardo announced that they had advanced from stink-up-the-joint awful to merely bad at the "Space Cowboy" choreography.

"See you here tomorrow, yes?" he said. There was a collective groan. Joey turned his head slightly, and could see them all reflected in the floor to ceiling mirrors of the rehearsal space. He, Lance and Chris were sprawled on the floor. Justin was sitting against the wall, with his head practically between his knees. Even JC looked tired.

"Oh, my poor ducks. My poor, flat-footed little ducks." Ricardo was a sadist, there was no doubt about it. He looked as fresh as he had that morning. He smiled at them, that shark's smile they had all learned to distrust, and left.

"Remind me why we ever wanted to do this tour in the first place?" Chris said.

"To see America's wonders," JC said drily.

"Yeah, the bus is pretty amazing," Lance drawled. "What with the bathroom, and all."

"We've got to do something to keep Justin off the streets," Joey pronounced.

"Bite me," came Justin's token protest, at about half his usual volume.

Chris heaved a sigh and rolled to his feet. He staggered over to Justin and tugged on his hair. "C'mon, gangsta man, get up. You're my ride, and I'm supposed to meet Dani at six." Justin groaned and got up. They picked up their bags and headed for the door.

"Give Dani our love," called Lance.

"I barely have the strength left to give her mine," floated back from the hall. Justin made some indistinguishable remark, but Chris' voice was more carrying, and they clearly heard his, "In your goddamned dreams, horndog," accompanied by the sound of a smack. Lance smiled, got up, and wiped his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. He shrugged on his zippered sweatshirt and patted the pocket for his keys and smiled again.

"Tune in tomorrow," he said as he crossed the room.

"Same bat time, same bat station," Joey replied. He was looking at the acoustical ceiling tiles. It was pleasant to lie on his back on the cool wooden floor and listen to the sounds of JC moving around on the other side of the room, and not think about anything.

"Joey," came JC's voice. "I'm going to get some water. You'd better get up." Joey heard his steps retreat down the hall. Get up, move around, don't let the muscles freeze up; he knew the drill. He rolled to his side and pushed up into a kneeling position. As he was standing up, his right thigh convulsed as if electrodes had been applied to it, and he staggered.

"Ow, ow, fuck," Joey gasped. He grasped his thigh with both hands. It felt like a stone with nerve endings. The pain was crippling, shooting up into his groin and down his knee. He hopped on his left foot, teetering in the middle of the room, then there was a wiry frame pressed against his side, and an arm came around his waist.

"Lean on me," JC said. Joey felt like a poorly balanced set of blocks; if he took one step, he was sure he would bring both of them crashing down. "_Lean_," JC repeated. There was an old upright piano in the corner with a big old-fashioned bench, and JC steered them toward it. Their progress was halting.

"ow. shit. goddamn." Actually, JC was practically carrying him. Jesus, he's strong, thought Joey. It was strange; Joey was used to being the one who carried people. Chris was for ever jumping on his back. Hell, last year he had carried Justin to the bus when he twisted his ankle goofing around at some rest stop on the interstate. And he was used to thinking of JC as a bit...fragile. JC held himself ever so slightly more aloof, physically, than the others.

"Sure--you don't--have a big--red 's'--on your underwear?" he gritted out. And then another wave of the cramp swept over him and he pressed his lips together to keep from yelling. "_mmmmm_".

"Almost there."

And then they were there. Joey had his eyes closed as JC lowered him to the bench. "Okay. Like that. Keep your feet on the floor." He sensed JC move away, and felt slightly panicked.

"Hang on." There was a rustling sound, and then JC was back and pushing a bottle at his mouth. "It's Gatorade, drink some, it'll help."

Joey shook his head. He wanted the liquid, but he couldn't peel his hands from his thigh. He just knew if he didn't hold the cramping muscle in place, his leg would snap in two. "Can't," he gasped.

He felt a gentle hand touch his forehead, then JC was holding the bottle to his lips. "I'll hold it, it's okay." He tilted his head back gratefully, and managed to swallow some of the drink. Some of it ran down his chin. There was the sensation of another hand on his thigh, not with his own death grip, but with gentle, steady pressure.

"Drink some more." JC tilted the bottle again, more slowly. Joey felt the hand on his thigh begin to move. Push and stroke, push and stroke. Nothing as rough as a real massage, just a soft, long sweep, smoothing away the cramp. It was working. Joey was able to relax his own hands. He brought one up to hold the Gatorade bottle, where it touched JC's. He swallowed more of the slightly sweet tart liquid. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the piano. The muscle in his thigh was loosening, starting to feel weak and trembling, rather than rigid as concrete. He opened his eyes.

JC had a knee on the edge of the piano bench, leaning over him, looking down at his own hand moving on Joey's thigh. He could feel JC's breath against his neck. He could feel JC's hand sweep langorously down his leg, and then move back up again.

"Better?" JC asked.

"Um," Joey said. If JC turned his head right now their faces would almost be touching. That made him feel slightly hollow, in spite of the Gatorade. He shifted a bit and closed his eyes again.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Don't move yet," JC said. "It could come back." He slid down to kneel on the floor; Joey felt the brush of JC's knee, his hip, his shoulder. All while his hand kept moving on Joey's thigh. Then JC had both hands on his thigh, kneading more firmly, working from his knee up towards his hip. It felt good. It felt good because it was JC's capable, serious, sometimes slightly aloof hands on his body. It felt good to have JC take care of him. JC looked after Justin, sometimes, out of old habit, but he tended to treat everyone else as if they could take of themselves. Which, of course, Joey could. Most of the time.

"Where did you learn this stuff?" He looked at JC's face, which was tipped down. He caught the edge of JC's smile.

"Mickey Mouse Club," he said briefly.

"Well, thank Walt Disney and all the Mouseketeers," Joey murmured. He kept watching JC's face, the pale shells of his downcast eyes, his matinee-idol cheekbones. JC's mouth was slightly open as he concentrated on the movement of his own hands. Joey could feel the skin of his thigh grow warm under his sweats. JC knew so much about what they did. More than any of them, really. He was so good at so many things. Joey felt himself slip down a bit on the bench, his spine sliding against the edge of the piano. JC's hands reached the top of his thigh, and hovered uncertainly. Then he spread his fingers and spanned the girth of Joey's leg, and pressed his thumbs gently into the crease between thigh and hip. It felt good--it reached some residual pain that none of the other touches had--but Joey had to close his eyes at the sight. Their breathing, his own and JC's, sounded loud in the silent room.

"Joey," said JC. Joey kept his eyes closed. The hollow feeling came back.

"Joey," JC repeated, his voice a little rough. "Lie back on the bench, okay? You need to extend this muscle." Joey nodded. He felt his head keep moving foolishly up and down, as JC put those strong hands against his back and helped him turn and ease down. Joey thought he might feel those hands on his thigh again, but instead, he felt a touch on his face.

"Joey." This time it was a whisper. Joey reached out and felt cotton beneath his fingertips. He tugged lightly on the fabric, and felt the warmth of JC's body drawing closer, like the sun coming out from behind clouds. He opened his eyes and slid his hand up to JC's neck, pulling him into the kiss, opening his mouth and breathing softly. JC kept his eyes open as they kissed, and damn, here was another thing that JC was good at. JC pulled away very slightly, holding his parted lips over Joey's, not quite brushing their mouths together. He was swaying, tiny little drunken motions. Joey turned his head slightly, angling their mouths. His hand was wrapped in the neck of JC's t-shirt.

"Thanks," he murmured, knowing the word would tickle. He could feel JC's lips move a little, and knew he was smiling. He kept looking into JC's eyes.

JC moved imperceptibly closer. His breath fluttered. It did tickle. "What for?"

"For taking care of me," Joey said, and then they were kissing again.


End file.
